The Shrew
by tiggersrock
Summary: Kat's views on everything that happens in the movie. Rated for language because language is the same as the movie. R&R please! :)
1. I Don't Give A Damn 'Bout My Reputation

The Shrew  
  
A/N: Just an idea of what Kat must have been thinking all the way through. My 1st fanfic, so please be kind and review!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 10 Things I Hate About You, or any of the characters. Wish I owned Heath, though.  
  
Chapter One  
  
I Don't Give A Damn 'Bout My Reputation  
  
Another day, another morning.  
  
I pull up in my car at the traffic lights, drowning out the cheesy pop-rap of the tarts in the car next to me with my own - far better - music. They roll their eyes at me when they think I'm not looking, but they're too scared to do anything else.  
  
After all, I'm Kat Stratford, and I'm scary.  
  
I get to school. Padua High - don'tcha just hate it? I'll be so glad when I graduate. Then it's to Sarah Lawrence - if they've accepted me, and if my dad'll let me go. I haven't actually told him yet.  
  
I pull down a poster for the prom with the disgust the stupid American teenage 'tradition' deserves. A mind-numbed, brain-washed clone-girl behind me yells "Hey!" but I can't be bothered replying, not even to sling her the Vs.  
  
First lesson of the day is English Lit. I sit down at my place. Joey Donner, asshole of the year, is behind me. I glower at him, before Mr Morgan starts in. "OK, what did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?"  
  
"I loved it," says a girl behind me. I look round and notice it's the same whore whose poster I pulled down before. "Hemingway is so romantic."  
  
"Romantic? Hemingway? He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso and trying to nail his leftovers," I cut in, unable to stop myself. Why does everything become a question of romance?  
  
"As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous hag who has no friends?" Donner says, hardly able to restrain himself from crying with laughter at his own wit. A few students - mostly friends of Donner's - laugh. I silence them with a glare.  
  
"Pipe down, Chachi," shoots Morgan from the front of the class.  
  
I turn to Donner. "I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time." I can't help but retort whenever it's him - and it usually is. I can't stand him. The class groans. Can't stand them, either, come to think of it. "What about Sylvia Plath, or Charlotte Bronte, or Simone de Beauvoir?" I ask, turning back to Morgan.  
  
Just then, there's a diversion at the back. Some curly haired boff-boy's just walked in. "What'd I miss?" he asks. Ooh, aren't we the bad boy?  
  
"The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education," I reply, more to annoy Morgan than to help Curls out.  
  
"Good," he replies, turns and walks back out. It's actually pretty funny, but I wouldn't be caught dead laughing.  
  
"Mr Morgan," interrupts Donner. "Is there any chance we could get Kat to take her Midol before she comes to class?" Oh, what wits! It took him about ten minutes to think of that. Asshole.  
  
Morgan agrees with me. "Someday you're gonna get bitch-slapped, and I'm not gonna do a thing to stop it." I think it's quite funny, for a teacher, until he turns on me. "And Kat, I want to thank you for your point of view." I nod, surprised but pleased. Oh. He hasn't finished. "I know how difficult it must be to overcome all those years of upper-middle class suburban oppression." What?! Dick! "It must be tough. But the next time you storm the PTA, crusading for better.lunch meat or whatever it is you white girls complain about, ask them why they can't buy a book written by a black man!"  
  
"That's right mon!" yell these two pot-smoking white Rastas, leaping up.  
  
He turns to them. "Don't even get me started on you two!" They sink back down, muttering apology.  
  
"Anything else?" I ask, sarcastically.  
  
"Yeah, go to the office. You're pissing me off." What? I can't believe him!  
  
"What? Mr Morgan -" I protest, but he cuts me off with a wave.  
  
"Later!"  
  
I pick up my bag angrily and walk out, hitting Donner as I go. His startled "Wha-?" is therapeutic enough, more so than any meeting with our porn- writing guidance counsellor would be - though I have to see her anyway.  
  
Never mind. 


	2. Perky's Porn

Chapter Two  
  
Perky's Porn  
  
I wait in the corridor for a minute, waiting for Ms Perky. An unwritten rule of Padua is don't interrupt her when you can hear music coming from her office. Otherwise you're likely to hear things you don't want to hear.  
  
The music stops, abruptly. I wait another few seconds to make sure that it's not going to start again and walk over. She's talking to herself.  
  
"Swollen," she says, as if trying to remember something. "Turgid."  
  
"Tumescent?" I say helpfully, more to tell her I'm there than anything.  
  
She looks up and spots me. "Perfect!" She types for a minute then closes her laptop and looks at me. "So, I hear you've been terrorizing Mr Morgan's class again?" Wow, great opener, Miss! Very counselling.  
  
"Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action." I sit down, slightly reluctantly.  
  
"The way you expressed your opinion to Bobby Ridgeway?" Damn! She had to bring that up, the bitch. He tried to grope me, OK? "By the way, I hear his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, if you're interested." I'm not, OK? So stop going on about it!  
  
She seems to have taken my furiously telepathically communicated advice. "The thing is, Kat." she glances down at the cup she's just picked up. "Cat!" She laughs, I raise my eyebrows and sigh in an isn't-that-just-a- little-lame kind of way. She purrs and laughs again, then abruptly gets down to business.  
  
Actually, that's a bad phrase to use with Ms Perky. You never quite know what business means.  
  
"Some people perceive you as a little."  
  
"Tempestuous?" I cut in. I wouldn't mind being known as tempestuous.  
  
"Heinous bitch is the term used most often." Ooh, even better! I've always wanted to be a heinous bitch! "You might want to work on that." I stand up.  
  
"As always, thank you for your excellent guidance," I say, sarcastically. "I'll let you get back to Reginald's quivering member."  
  
The sarcasm's lost on her, though. As I leave, I hear her say, "Quivering member. I like that." Then the music goes back on, and believe me, I don't strain my ears to hear what she says next. 


	3. Sunshine on the Window

Chapter Three  
  
Sunshine on the Window  
  
I get home before my dad, which is normal, and before Bianca, which is not. But I know why; she's been driven home by Donner, tube sock model and asshole.  
  
I'm quite content to sit curled up in one of the armchairs and read The Bell Jar, the book I'm reading for Lit. When Morgan said that thing about upper-middle class suburban families, he wasn't wrong. We do have quite a lot of money, but to be honest I don't really care, I think I'd just as rather we had nothing and lived on benefits.  
  
I hear Dad come in, muttering. "Hello, Katarina," he says, stopping by my chair. "Make anyone cry today?"  
  
"Sadly no," I reply. "But it's only four thirty." I look up and we smile. Then Bianca comes thundering down the stairs.  
  
"Hello, princess," he says to her, kissing her cheek.  
  
I settle for a "And where have you been?" and a glower.  
  
"Nowhere," she replies, returning my glare. If she wasn't my sister, I'd be impressed at her guts. Not many kids return my glares.  
  
"Hey, what's this?" Dad asks, rifling through the mail. "It says Sarah Lawrence."  
  
"Oh my God!" I grab it off him and rip the formal white envelope. "I'm in!" I shriek, running over to the sofa and jumping onto it. "I got in!"  
  
"Honey, that's great, but isn't Sarah Lawrence on the other side of the country?" my dad asks, following me over.  
  
"Thus the basis of its appeal!" I reply, scanning the brochure.  
  
"I thought we decided you were going to stay here and go to school, be a U Dub, like me? Be a husky?" he says, making growling noises. It's so pathetic I don't know whether to laugh, cry or yell.  
  
"No, you decided," I reply, sitting up.  
  
"What, so you're just going to pack up and leave, is that it?"  
  
"Let's hope so!" cuts in Bianca. I glare and plan my next comment carefully.  
  
"Ask Bianca who drove her home," I say casually. My father – overprotective as ever, says, "Don't change the subject, Kat – drove – who drove you home?" he ends, rounding on Bianca.  
  
"Well, don't get mad Daddy, but there's this boy…"  
  
"Who's a raging imbecile," I add, quickly. Well, he is. He's Donner.  
  
"And I think he's going to ask me – " she continues regardless.  
  
"I think I know what he's going to ask you," my dad says. "And I think I know what the answer is. No. It's always no!"  
  
"That's so unfair!" Bianca wails. I tune out a little. I'm used to this. It's nothing new.  
  
"You want to know what's unfair?" He sits her next to me and squats in front of us, leaning on the sofa. "This is for you too," he adds to me. Now that's unfair. I don't date, Dad! "This morning, I delivered a set of twins to a fifteen year old girl. Do you want to know what she said to me?"  
  
"I'm a crack whore who should have made my skeazy boyfriend wear a condom?" asks Bianca. True, very true.  
  
"Nearly," says my dad, considering this. "But no. She said, 'I should have listened to my father'!"  
  
I sigh. Yeah, right. "She did not!" replies Bianca.  
  
"Well, that's what she would have said if she wasn't so doped up," he replies, looking as if this is a perfectly viable excuse for lying to his two daughters.  
  
"Daddy, can we focus on me for a second, please?" Bianca's whinging again. Every second she lives is focused on her. "I am the only girl in high school who's not dating."  
  
"Oh no you're not," says 'Daddy'. (What respectable teenager says that, anyway?) "Your sister doesn't date."  
  
He couldn't just leave me out of it, could he? "And I don't intend to." Whoops. I just can't help myself.  
  
"And why's that again?" He's delighted, patting me on the knee and nodding to Bianca to listen to me.  
  
"Have you seen the unwashed miscreants who go to that school?" Yeah, Curls from Lit is definitely a good example of an unwashed miscreant.  
  
"What planet are you from? Planet Loser?" Oh, shut up, Bianca. You're as bad a whore as any of them.  
  
"As opposed to planet 'Look at me, look at me'." She is a bitch, and I hate bitches!  
  
"OK, I've got a way to settle this," interrupts Dad. He knows if we get started we could go on for hours – I think the record is two days, ten hours. "Old rule – out. New rule – Bianca can date…"  
  
Oh my God. He's actually going to let my hooker of a sister loose upon the male half of this world?  
  
"…when she does." He indicates me. Oh no. Don't get me involved. Really. You don't want our feud to escalate, do you?  
  
"But she's a mutant!" Bianca's arguing this one out. She ain't gonna let this go, that's for sure. Whore. "What if she never dates?"  
  
"Then you'll never date. Oh, I like that." She's so stupid! She might have guessed that idea would appeal to him. "And I'll get to sleep at night! The deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren't out being impregnated." His stupid little beeper thing goes off. "We'll talk about Sarah Lawrence later," he tells me, going on a search for the phone.  
  
"Can't wait," I say, heading for the stairs. Bianca, however, isn't finished yet.  
  
"Can't you just find some blind, deaf retard to take you to the movies so I can have one lousy date?" she yells up the stairs at me. I pause.  
  
"Sorry, looks like you'll just have to miss out on the witty repartee of Joey 'Eat me' Donner." It's a shame; if only she knew that I just didn't want her to get hurt like I did. But she doesn't.  
  
"You suck!" she tells me.  
  
"You suck!" I reply mockingly, and head upstairs.  
  
A/N: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!!! ( I've written loads of this, it's just a case of spreading it out a bit because I don't want to upload it all at once!  
  
Please, R&R! The pretty little button wants to be clicked on…be drawn to the button…be drawn to the button…just review please!!! ( 


	4. The World Makes Sense Again

Chapter Four  
  
The World Makes Sense Again  
  
Gym's probably the only lesson in school I actually like, at least a little. I'm on the girls' football team, and it was practise today. Mr Chapin had us all running around like idiots doing all these 'team' exercises, and then we had a game. Just a little one.  
  
I looked up when I got done for tackling someone. You might not see where I'm heading, but I swear I saw Curls - you know, the unwashed miscreant from Lit - talking to Donner. Are they related or something, or did Donner just want the last lot of Lit homework? Or did Curls just want the homework, actually, come to that?  
  
Anyway, the whistle blows soon after that. "Great practise, everyone!" yells Chapin as we come off the field, and then, to me, "Good hustle, Stratford."  
  
"Thanks Mr Chapin," I reply, heading over to the bench to get a drink.  
  
And then there he is, in front of me. Curls. The unwashed miscreant himself, returned from the dead. Well. From the bench in the middle of the field. The coaches have given up trying to make him do PE. "Hey there, girlie," he says as I drink. "How ya doin'?"  
  
Is he chatting me up?! "Sweating like a pig, actually, and yourself?" I reply. (Well, it's hot.)  
  
He laughs. "Now there's a way to get a guy's attention."  
  
Hmm. Maybe he's not going to go away so easily. I try sarcasm. "My mission in life. But obviously I struck your fancy, so you see it worked! The world makes sense again."  
  
He laughs, and follows me as I walk off. "Pick you up on Friday then?"  
  
"Oh, Friday. Right. Uh-huh." My voice is dripping with sarcasm. Such a good way to ask me out, the arrogant (not to mention unwashed) prick!  
  
"Well, the night I take you places you've never been before."  
  
Oh. My. God. How cheesy can you get?! I try a clearer tack. Maybe he's too thick to get sarcasm. "Like where, the 7-11 on Broadway? Do you even know my name, screwboy?"  
  
"I know a lot more than you think." I'm actually quite impressed; not a lot of people have the guts to stand up to me. But, trust my luck that the only one that does is a curly-haired screwboy.  
  
"Doubtful. Very doubtful," I reply, walking off. He just stands and looks after me. Wuss. That was pretty annoying - also pretty weird.  
  
Never mind. I'm going to Club Skunk in a couple of nights. Letters to Cleo are playing. How cool is that?! 


	5. Whoops!

Chapter Five  
  
Whoops  
  
I pull up at the music store after school. I want to have another look at the guitar I'm going to buy. Really.  
  
A Fender Strat. It is the best guitar on this earth, and I want it. But my dad'll never let me buy it. He thinks buying a guitar will turn me into a mad rock-and-roll star, getting pissed every night and going out shagging anyone within a range of two hundred metres. Sometimes I really wonder if he knows me at all.  
  
So, anyway. I sit in the shop and play the guitar for nearly an hour, going through all the songs that'll be on at Club Skunk tomorrow.  
  
I go back out, after hanging the guitar back on the wall slightly reluctantly.  
  
"Nice ride. Vintage fenders." He gives me the thumbs-up. Yes, it's screwboy. He's leaning on my car, waiting for me to come out. Have you ever seen a stalker movie?  
  
"Are you following me?" It's more than a little creepy. I mean, I've been in that shop for an hour.  
  
"I was in the Laundromat, I saw your car and came over to say hi." Plausible excuse - except that I don't want to talk to him.  
  
"Hi." I walk past and make to get into the car, but he blocks me, sliding up till he's in front of me.  
  
"Not a big talker, huh?"  
  
"Depends on the topic. My fenders don't exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy." Well, it's true. He's clearly no good at topics.  
  
"You're not afraid of me are you?" Well, duh! How long did it take to work that one out?  
  
"Afraid of you, why should I be afraid of you?" You're nothing but a jumped- up unwashed miscreant screwboy with bad hair.  
  
"Well, most people are." He looks quite sincere - for once.  
  
"Well, I'm not."  
  
"You might not be afraid of me, but I bet you've thought about me naked, huh?" He winks. Oh my God. A cheesy perve.  
  
"Am I that transparent? I want you. I need you. Oh baby, oh baby." I shove him aside and get into my car.  
  
He lets me - I'm quite surprised, actually. The way things were going I thought he'd refuse to let me past.  
  
Suddenly another car pulls up. A red sports car, polished to perfection, with really, really, cheesy crap pop blaring out. Donner. Of course.  
  
He gets out, having just blocked me in, and walks up to the shop.  
  
"Ugh, what is it, Asshole Day?" I ask the world at large, and then bellow at him, "Do you mind?!"  
  
"Not at all," he says. How annoying?! Something just snapped inside me then. I glared at him and revved up my car. Giving it full power, I reversed straight into Donner's Ass-Mobile, leaving a tear in the metal about two feet across.  
  
Screwboy's laughing his head off. He's got a nice sounding laugh. Oh my God, was that a nice thought about him? Forget about that one.  
  
"You bitch!" Donner comes racing back out the store to see his car.  
  
I really, really, want to laugh, but I can't. I allow myself a tiny chuckle and contemplate the damage. "Whoops."  
  
I knew I was for it as soon as my dad found out. When I came home and he saw my car.the damage wasn't that bad, (not to my hunk of junk anyway) but it was enough. I explained.  
  
"Whoops?!" He confronts me as I lie on the sofa finishing The Bell Jar. "My insurance does not cover PMS!"  
  
"Well then, tell them I had a seizure." I smile at my pure genius and sit up.  
  
"Is this about Sarah Lawrence? Are you punishing me because I want you to stay close to home?" he asks. No, I'm not punishing you, Dad, I'm punishing Donner. Duh.  
  
"Aren't you punishing me because Mom left?" I'm ready for a confrontation now. I hardly ever get out without one.  
  
"Do you think you could leave her out of this?" I'll stop opening old wounds if you stop aggravating fresh ones.  
  
"Fine, then stop making my decisions for me!"  
  
"I'm your father, that's my right." Excuse me?! That's the worst thing I heard since 'Because I said so'.  
  
"So what I want doesn't matter?" Does he really think he can get away with just treating me like a piece of his property?  
  
"You're eighteen, you don't know what you want. And you won't know what you want until you're forty-five and even if you get it, you'll be too old to use it."  
  
I know what I want, Dad! Who do you think I am? Bianca?  
  
"I want to go to an East Coast School! I want you to trust me to make my own choices and I want you to stop trying to control my life just because you can't control yours!"  
  
"Well, you know what I want?" His pager beeps, he looks at it and winces. "We'll continue this later."  
  
"Can't wait," I say sarcastically. I head out to the hall, where Bianca's standing, phone in hand.  
  
"Did you just maim Joey's car?" she screeches at me like the witch she is.  
  
"Yeah. Looks like you're gonna have to take the bus." I smile.  
  
"Has the fact that you're completely psycho managed to escape your attention?!" she wails. I can't be bothered with another confrontation right now. I walk past at head upstairs for the comfort of my room and my phone. I could do with talking to Mandella. From downstairs I hear Bianca shrieking, "Daddy!!!" 


	6. Come On To My Embrace

Chapter Six  
  
Come On To My Embrace  
  
A/N: Sorry I've not uploaded for ages, but I've been on holiday! I'm back now though.oh yeah, and I got kind of a flame, so I'd just like to say to the person who flamed me, BITCH!!! You can't even leave your name, so fuck you! Oh yeah, I don't like flames.if you didn't already guess.  
  
I picked Mandella up at nine, and we head over to Club Skunk. We both love Letters to Cleo, it's our favourite band!  
  
We dance for about an hour without stopping. Then a song I don't know comes on. It's good, actually.  
  
How you sleep so easy, Is a mystery.  
  
Letters to Cleo sing full blast, and me and Mandella dance! When the song shows signs of being near its close, I bellow, "I need agua!" over the music, and head off to the bar.  
  
"Two waters, please," I say to the barman, looking round. And guess who's sitting at the other end of the bar, in blue leather pants that actually fit him rather well and mean I have to forcibly restrain myself from checking out his ass, me, Kat Stratford, hater of everyone (especially men)?  
  
You guessed it.  
  
Curls.  
  
I roll my eyes and sigh loudly and angrily. "If you're planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with."  
  
"Do you mind?" he calls over the drumbeat. "You're kind of ruining this for me." Something is different about him tonight. I realise what it is. "You're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke."  
  
"I know," he replied. "I quit. Apparently they're bad for you."  
  
Cool. After all, I always said I'd never date a smoker. Well, I'll never date him anyway, but.I don't want him to think I'm too keen, so I just reply with a rather sarcastic, "You think?"  
  
He nods his head to the music for a few seconds before replying. "You know, these guys are no Bikini Kill or The Raincoats, but they're not bad."  
  
He always leaves me feeling so wrong footed! I follow him as he goes to get a better view of the stage, having finished his drink.  
  
"You know who The Raincoats are?" I ask, slightly incredulously. Either he's done his research thoroughly, or else he's not the unwashed miscreant I thought he was.  
  
"Why, don't you?" He's done it again, I never know quite what to say to him. Instead I roll my eyes.  
  
"I was watching you out there, I've never seen you look so sexy!" Ohhhh, typical bad timing. As soon as he says that, the music would go off. I'm surrounded by giggling girls. It's quite funny, actually; I laugh a little, then look at him. He laughs too.  
  
"Come to Bogey's party with me." It's more of a command than a request, but I overlook that - for now.  
  
"You just never give up, do you?" I say. The next track comes on. I can see Mandella waiting for me. I need to head back.  
  
"Was that a yes?" he asks, pretending he can't hear me over the music. I grin. "No!"  
  
"Well then, was that a no?" he calls after my retreating back as I head over to where Mandella is dancing.  
  
"No!" I say, laughing a little.  
  
"I'll see you at nine-thirty, then!" he yells, but I pretend I don't hear.  
  
"What was that all about?" asks Mandella.  
  
"Oh, just someone asking me out, that guy from Lit." I say.  
  
"Are you kidding?" she asks. "Patrick Verona? He's perfect for you, his reputation is nearly as bad as yours!"  
  
"Really." I say with a sinking heart. 


	7. Meaningless ConsumerDriven Lives

Chapter Seven  
  
Meaningless Consumer-Driven Lives  
  
I come down to get a drink and Dad's in full blast at Bianca and her bitch- ess friend Chastity.  
  
"Do you know anything about a party?" he asks me as soon as I show my face.  
  
"No," I reply. Lying.  
  
"Why can't you be normal?!" wails Bianca.  
  
"Define normal," I reply; perfectly good retort if you ask me.  
  
"Bogey Lowenstein's party is normal!" she replies. I hear dad ask Chastity, "What's a Bogey Lowenstein?"  
  
Before she can reply, I cut in, with my views on the subject. "Bogey's party is just an excuse for all the idiots at our school to drink beer and rub up against each other in the hopes of distracting themselves from the pathetic emptiness of their -"  
  
"Meaningless consumer-driven lives." Bianca and Chastity join in and chant the last sentence along with me. I smile uncertainly. Bianca drags me to one side. "Please, for one night can you forget that you're completely wretched and be my sister?" Nice way to ask, isn't it? "Please? Please?" She pauses. "Come on, Kat. Please do this for me?"  
  
"Fine. I'll put in an appearance," I say, half to please her, half remembering Club Skunk and Patrick Verona.  
  
They both shriek and hug me, then turn to Dad. He doesn't look so happy. "It's starting."  
  
"It's just a party, Daddy!" says Bianca, cheerfully.  
  
"I want you to wear the belly."  
  
He can't make her do that.can he?! It would be funny, anyway, but completely humiliating for her. Wait a minute.me, caring about her feelings? She doesn't care about mine!  
  
"Daddy, no!" she says, shocked.  
  
"Not the whole night, just for five minutes around the living room," he replies, grabbing this.thing and putting it on her, she consents reluctantly. "You are so completely unbalanced!"  
  
"Yeah," he says, nodding. I sense this could go on forever. "We're going now."  
  
"Wait a minute!" he says, and I pause halfway to the door.  
  
"No drinking. No drugs. No kissing. No tattoos. No piercings. No ritual animal slaughters of any kind. oh God, I'm giving them ideas." He's so stressed out! I roll my eyes and open the door.  
  
And there he is, one hand raised to knock, looking slightly surprised that I opened it - but not half as surprised as I am to find him there!  
  
In response to my look of puzzlement, he says, "Nine thirty, right?" and glances at his watch. "Oh. I'm early."  
  
"Whatever, I'm driving," I say, grabbing my keys and leaving. I hear him say, as he sees Bianca, "Who knocked up your sister?"  
  
I can picture the glare. 


	8. Dazz

Chapter Eight  
  
Dazz  
  
When we get to Bogey's party, it must have only started about half an hour ago but it's already in full swing, people are dancing and getting drunk everywhere. As we go upstairs, this girl throws herself at Patrick and goes, "Kiss me!" Oh my God. Whore.  
  
He just goes, "Kiss him!" throwing her at this guy.  
  
"OK!" she says.  
  
"Good." I can still hear the guy thanking him even though I'm ages away by now.  
  
"Looking fresh tonight, pussy-Kat." Oh, great. Asshole Donner.  
  
"Oh my God - was that - did your hairline just recede?" I ask sarcastically. He falls for it and puts his hand up to his head, at which point I allow myself a satisfied smirk and walk away.  
  
"Where you going?" WHY must he always sneak up behind me? He is such an idiot! I hate him so much!  
  
"Away."  
  
"Where's your sister?" Oh, no. If he goes near Bianca.  
  
"You stay away from my sister," I say, angrily. I'll have his ass served for breakfast.  
  
"Oh, I'll stay away from your sister." Hands up in defeat, he backs away. I don't believe a word of it. Hasn't he already taught me not to trust him? "But I can't guarantee she'll stay away from me."  
  
At this point some drunken moron comes up and yells, "FIGHT!!!" Good thing, really, or else there would have been another fight.  
  
"Ooh, FIGHT!" yells Donner. Asshole.  
  
I turn to leave but I'm nearly stampeded by this massive body of inebriated losers who almost shove me over in their pathetic attempt to witness two stupid idiots attempt to beat the crap out of one another in a faded attempt to prove their masculinity to any whorish female onlooker.  
  
And they ask why I don't go to parties.  
  
I somehow manage to get out. I hear yells and the smashing of glass, followed by a shocked silence and then laughter. I wander round a little, looking for the exit, but the party all too soon begins again and I see - guess who. Donner and Bianca.  
  
"Look who found me."  
  
He had to open like that, didn't he? Now I have to tell Bianca what I didn't want to.  
  
"Hey, Bianca," I say as casually as I can, grabbing her arm as she struts past with Donner.  
  
"Please do not address me in public," she hisses, as though I've just committed high treason.  
  
"No - there's something I have to tell you." I say it casually even though I'm pretty worried by her reaction to what I'm going to say.  
  
She pulls her arm away from mine. "Look, Kat, I am enjoying my adolescence, OK, so scamper off and do the same." She walks over to Donner.  
  
"Bu-bye." He's clearly wallowing sadistically in my failed attempt to tell Bianca the truth about why I stopped being popular. Well, he would be, wouldn't he?  
  
Someone comes past with a tray of drinks. I think it's tequila; it smells pretty lethal.  
  
"You want one?" I grab one and down it in one gulp, coughing as it burns the back of my throat.  
  
"Right on, sister!" says the guy in surprise and admiration. Suddenly Patrick's there, glaring at him.  
  
"What is this?" He gestures. Uselessly.  
  
"I'm getting trashed, man; isn't that what you're supposed to do at a party?"  
  
"I don't know, I say, do what you want to do." He sounds sincere, but I don't care.  
  
"Funny; you're the only one. Later," I grab another drink and head off up the stairs. 


	9. Word Up

Chapter Nine  
  
Word Up  
  
The next time I see Patrick I'm on about my tenth or eleventh drink - or maybe even thirteenth. Things got a little mixed up after the fifth.  
  
He grabs it off me and says, "Why don't you let me have this one?"  
  
"No!" I reply, angrily, grabbing it back. I need it more than he does. I'm sure of that. "This one's mine."  
  
I stalk off.  
  
I see Patrick talking to Donner but I don't care. Everything's going a little hazy. The music changes, something with a good beat comes on. I climb onto the table. There's quite a crowd watching me as I start to dance. I see Patrick come in. He stands by the table, just watching me. He's not trying to get me down but he's not cheering either.  
  
He looks - nice. Caring, all that. I wonder how bad his reputation is. I don't take much notice of other people's reputations. I have enough to worry about with my own. Anyway, Donner had a great reputation when we went out, and look where that got me. Giant steps backwards.  
  
It's getting hard to concentrate. I stand up too quickly and -  
  
I open my eyes. I'm in Patrick's arms. It feels nice, he's supporting me. I can't remember what happened, then I see the table and recall it.  
  
"Are you OK?" he asks me. He's got a good voice, too.  
  
"I'm fine," I say, stumbling to my feet. He lets go, and I immediately fall over again.  
  
"You're not fine. Come on." He helps me out.  
  
"I just need to lie down for a while, that's all."  
  
"You lie down, you go to sleep." He's dragging me towards the exit.  
  
"Sleep is good," I giggle.  
  
"Not if you have a concussion." He sits me down on this low wall running through the house.  
  
"We need to talk." Suddenly this geeky guy appears. I think his name is Cameron or Calvin - something beginning with C, anyway, he's Bianca's French tutor or something like that.  
  
"I'm a little busy," Patrick replies.  
  
"This is important," says the geek.  
  
They walk off a few metres, so I can't hear them talking, although I do hear the word Bianca, and then Joey.  
  
I see Patrick pat the geek on the back, then I feel kind of dizzy.  
  
"Whoa!" Patrick catches me for the second time in ten minutes. I giggle.  
  
"Come on." He starts to lead me.  
  
"Why?" I ask, but I follow him anyway, up to the hill.  
  
"This is so patronizing!" I shake off his arm, realising how.dependent I must look.  
  
He laughs a little, "Trust you to use big words when you're smashed." He tries to put his arm back round me.  
  
"I don't think so!" I shake him off again and go up the hill on my hands and feet.  
  
"What are you doing this for?" I round on him as we get to the top of the hill, where there's a little trellis and a couple of swings. "You don't care if I never wake up."  
  
"Sure I do!" he replies, taking hold of both my hands. "Then I'd have to start taking out girls who actually like me."  
  
"Like you could find one," I mutter. As if! Well, OK, maybe there's one.  
  
"There, you see!" He gestures. "Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?"  
  
Blind's the word.  
  
I fall over a little. "Are you OK?" he asks.  
  
"I just.let me sit down a little, that's all." Patrick guides me to one of the swings and sits down. I immediately fall off the back. "Jeez!" He grabs me before I hit my head again. Three times in less than half an hour. Jesus, I am becoming weak, dependent and a follower.  
  
Not to mention dizzy.  
  
"So, why'd you let him get to you?" He sits down on the swing next to me.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Donner."  
  
"He's an asshole."  
  
"Well, you've chosen the perfect revenge - mainlining tequila." He laughs - so do I. "Well, you know what they say." I feel hazy, like I just want to put my head down and sleep.  
  
* * * "Kat, open your eyes!"  
  
I open them slowly. The first thing I'm aware of is the sharp jolt of pain in my head, though it's cushioned by something holding my head.  
  
Someone.  
  
Patrick Verona is staring deep into my eyes. He looks worried.  
  
I smile to let him know I'm OK. I didn't know he cared so much. It's kind of sweet, considering I haven't actually said anything nice to him yet.  
  
"Your eyes have a little green in them, you know that?"  
  
He smiles.I feel the tequila rising in my throat.  
  
I throw up over his legs.  
  
Oops.  
  
He moves backwards - well who wouldn't?! and sits on the other swing, but he carries on holding back my hair as I defile Bogey Lowenstein's garden.  
  
Guess he's gonna be real pleased about that. 


	10. Cruel to be Kind

Chapter Ten  
  
Cruel to be Kind  
  
A/N: I keep hearing there's a bit here about 'I get to pick the tunes!' but my copy must be strange, 'cos I don't have that bit, so I've just done it from where mine cuts in, at 'I should do this!' If this note makes any sense whatsoever, I'm surprised.  
  
I feel better now. We're in the car; Letters to Cleo are playing full blast.  
  
"I should do this!" I gesture towards the radio.  
  
"What?" asks Patrick from the drivers seat.  
  
"This!" I gesture more extravagantly.  
  
"What, start a band?"  
  
"No - install car stereos!" I say sarcastically, but without malice. "Yeah start a band. My father would love that!"  
  
We reach my house. The music goes off and he looks at me.  
  
"You don't strike me as the type that would ask your father for permission."  
  
"What, so now you think you know me?"  
  
"I'm getting there."  
  
"The only thing people know about me is I'm scary." Suddenly I'm so fed up of the whole mucked-up system! Can I not have my own likes and dislikes without being hated by everyone!  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm no picnic myself." I look up at him quickly, remembering what Mandella said. 'His reputation's almost as bad as yours.'  
  
He notices the moment. When it's got uncomfortable, he relieves the tension a little by saying, "So, what's with your dad, is he a pain in the ass?" He looks sympathetic.  
  
"No, he just wants me to be someone I'm not." I reply, thinking.  
  
"Who?" he asks softly.  
  
"Bianca!" in the most fake, cheerleader, full-of-silicon voice I can muster.  
  
"Oh." He laughs a little, then straightens his face. "You know, no offence, I know everyone 'digs' your sister." Love the quotations - ".but, well, she's without." He makes a sorry-if-I've-offended-you face at me but doesn't cringe, which I like. A lot. In fact, I really like this guy.  
  
"You know, you're not as vile as I thought you were," I whisper, moving towards him. My eyes close.  
  
"Maybe we should do this another time."  
  
What? My eyes snap open. I thought he liked me! I could almost cry, but no, I'm Kat Stratford, I never cry. And especially not over stupid, unwashed screwboy miscreants.Curls.  
  
I get out the car and slam the door, storming off into the house without looking back.  
  
I can't believe him! 


	11. A Really Good Assignment

**Chapter Eleven **

**"A Really Good Assignment"**

_A/N: Wheee! I updated! Sorry for being such a biyotch about the updating recently. It's just that I had exams, etc. etc. etc. You are fully allowed to hate me._

_But I've updated now, anyway. As you can see. Cause you're reading this._

_Right then. Here goes..._

Monday morning. I'm heading to Lit. Another day, just the same as the ones before it. The only way you could tell that something was different is from the dark bags under my eyes, where I stayed awake until dawn in the futile hope that I could figure out a reason why Patrick did what he did.

I walk into the classroom, wondering who's going to speak first, as I know you will. It's one of the White Rastas. "Kat, you sway to the rhythm of my heart." I glare at him and walk on, unperturbed.

A cowboy next. "Dance for me, cowgirl!" Another glare, and I continue, the walk to my desk taking forever.

Oh no, who's this, blocking my way? I look up. Joey Donner. Great.

"Kat, babe, what do we owe you for the table dance?" he asks, laughing at me. I give him my frostiest glare yet, and sit down.

"Alright, not that I give a damn but how was everybody's weekend?" Mr Morgan asks. The same way he does every Monday.

"I don't know, why don't we ask Kat?" Donner asks, rounding on me.

I feel like crying. I've had enough of his abuse, had enough of everything. The empty space where Patrick usually sits is glaring at me.

"Unless she kicked the crap outta your dumb butt, I don't wanna hear about it!" shoots Morgan right back. Normally I'd be triumphantly smiling – normally, in fact, I'd have made a comeback first – but I can't really think of anything that could make me smile this morning. It would have to be something very unusual.

"Open your books to page 73, sonnet 141," Morgan tells us. I do so numbly, staring at the page without even reading it. "And listen up. In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes..." I look up, the beginning of a shocked smile spreading across my face. He's rapping Shakespeare?! He continues -"...for they in thee a thousand errors note. But tis my heart that loves what they despise, which despite their view is pleas'd to dote."

There is a sort of shocked silence from the class. The White Rastas are grinning victoriously. Everyone else is pretty much stunned into silence, a shocked smile much like mine across their countenance.

Turned out Morgan had planned something very unusual.

"Now, I know Shakespeare's a dead white guy, but he knows his shit, so we can overlook that," he tells the class, who are still enthralled.

"I want you all to write your own version of this sonnet." A communal groan. The class no longer in awe. I put my hand in the air.

Although he has his back to me, he knows. "Yes, Miss I-Have-An-Opinion-About-Everything?"

I smile. "Do you want this in iambic pentameter?" I ask sweetly, shocking the rest of the class as much as I shock him.

"You're not gonna fight me on this?"

Another sweet, sincere smile. Even I didn't realise Patrick Verona would turn my life around this much...Whoa. Not Patrick. What am I talking about? I just like the assignment. That's all. "No, I think it's a really good assignment."

He chuckles, disbelieving. "You're just messing with me, aren't you?"

I'm a little shocked he doesn't believe me, but smile yet again anyway. "No, I'm really looking forward to writing it."

His smile changes to a glare, and he spits, furiously – "Get outta my class!"

I'm completely astounded. Is this as far as a change of heart gets me? "What?"

"Out, get out!" He means it, looming over me, gesturing toward the door. Stunned, I pack my books and go, too taken aback to be angry – yet.

From outside, I hear Donner – "Thanks, Mr Morgan," and Morgan's quick "Shut up."

It's all Patrick's fault.

Of course.

A/N: smiles sweetly Please don't kill me? Please? Pretty please with flowers on top? Please will you review instead? flutters eyelashes cutely

oh, and l'ilmissnitpick? I am English. Football is a game played with twenty two players, eleven per side, one ball, two goals. That's just the way it is. Sorry if it bothers you.


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